Fresh Air and Roses
by Julia Anne
Summary: Dawn's reaction to having Buffy back (but not really having her back). Takes place during the 6th season, and is from Dawn's POV.


AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ok, so I'm really rusty. I haven't writen anything that wasn't a paper in almost 6 months.  
So, I hope this is ok. It's (yet again) from Dawn's POV. It takes place somewhere in the 6th season. Buffy  
is back, Giles has left, Tara has moved out. I didn't deal with any of that scary Willow stuff (getting Dawn hurt and all),   
this takes place before that. Feedback would be much appreciated. Thanks so much, and enjoy!  
  
  
Fingers running through my hair.  
  
The smell of fresh air and roses. Laughter. Tears. Emotion. A smile that seemed actually genuine.   
  
These are things of the past. Things that don't appear to exist within her anymore. That are no longer reflected  
in her dulled green eyes. If she didn't still appear physically the same, I don't think I'd even recognize her.  
  
Usually I try not to think about stuff like this.   
  
About how Buffy has been so..well not Buffy since she came back. However, in my current dreamlike state on the couch   
I don't have much control over the direction of my mind.   
  
Sometimes it's hard to remember what she was like before. Other times her laugh and shining eyes bounce off every wall   
in my head at once. Echoing cries of shadows reflecting things that once were.   
  
I long for the past more then anything. I would even go back to last year, when Glory was hunting me down. At least then,   
within all the terror and hiding, there were still those moments when Buffy would hold me and tell me it would be ok.   
I knew she would protect me to until the end. Those seconds of sanity were almost worth everything else.   
Buffy could create moments where everything made sense. Now nothing does.   
  
The person who lives in this house, sleeps in Buffy's bed, and wears her clothes, isn't her.   
She gave her life so that I could live mine, and now she'll barely even look at me.   
  
Maybe it's because of all she's been through. I wish she would talk to me about it. Not that I   
would know what to say.  
"Sorry you were ripped out of heaven and all, is there anything I can do?"  
  
Is there anything I can do?  
  
I want to be there for her the way she used to be for me, but I don't know how. I'm not as   
strong as she was...is.   
I don't know how to reach her anymore.  
  
Xander says to just give her time. But I don't know how much longer I can live like this.   
How much longer I can go on being me.   
I just need somebody. With Tara gone, and Willow never here, Xander and Anya and busy with wedding stuff, trying to distract themselves  
from everything.. and Giles....and Buffy....well..   
  
  
Fingers running through my hair. Gently parting any tangles along the way.   
Sending soothing tingles down my neck. Feeling loved. Feeling warm.   
I remember it so well it almost feels real. I can even smell her. Fresh air and roses. Not real roses...it's just the shampoo she uses...  
  
As I re-enter the world of the conscious the feeling stays with me. I open my eyes just a crack, not really wanting to wake up.   
And she is there.   
Perched beside me on the couch.  
  
Fingers running through my hair. Tingles down my spine.   
  
I open my eyes one more time to make sure, and shut them tightly, afraid that she'll stop if she knows I'm awake.   
She doesn't.  
  
I begin to feel warm inside. Hopeful. Maybe Xander was right about needing time.   
Maybe Buffy and I don't need to talk. Maybe we just need to feel.   
Find our way in from the dark.   
  
Slowly I open my eyes and sit up. For the first time since she has been back, the girl sitting on the couch reminds me of my sister.  
  
As my eyes adjust to light of the room I notice something else.   
Tears are streaming down her face. They drip into her lap.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
I'm not sure if she actually says it or not. Either way, it rings in my ears. Envelops me.  
  
I want to say it back, and silently, I do.  
  
I'm sorry that you gave up everything for me to live and I haven't. Not really. I'm sorry for being happy that you're back,   
when it hurts you so much. I'm sorry for not knowing what to say. I'm sorry that I owe you everything, but can't really give you anything.   
  
I pull her into my arms and squeeze my eyes shut, silently praying that I'm not still dreaming.  
  
This is something. 


End file.
